


4 AM

by brightbriar



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: And A Little Bit Of Fluff (as a treat), Explicit Language, I refuse to believe we live in a universe where Malik and Bakura don't say fuck, Light Angst, M/M, Me writing banter: "is this flirting?", Post-Canon, Spacey sleep-deprived vibes but it's ~intentional~, YGOME20, Yu-Gi-Oh! Mini-Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27774427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightbriar/pseuds/brightbriar
Summary: Two years after the ceremonial duel, Malik has his own apartment. He's created a degree of distance between who he was three years ago, during the Battle City tournament, and who he is now. He likes to think he has his life together, even, aside from his sleep schedule.Until Bakura shows up at four in the morning and throws all of that into question.
Relationships: Yami Bakura/Marik Ishtar
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32
Collections: Yu-Gi-Oh! It's Time to G-G-G-Gift! [Mini-Exchange]





	4 AM

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KeikoAkai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeikoAkai/gifts).



> here's your gift for the exchange lovely!! I also made you a little [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1LwIGjET0IkXqnAHUddQwM?si=F7foB6RQQbm2A60uSrZqeA), it's got a mixture of songs which to me speak to this fic specifically and then some songs I thought had general thiefshipping vibes as well but with that same slightly spacey energy <3
> 
> hope you like it!!
> 
> (the prompt was: an unexpected guest visits the apartment 👀)

Malik stood in front of his window holding a matcha latte, his skin covered in goosebumps as he let the freezing night air inside, wondering whether the feeling of staying up late until his mind went numb was comforting or concerning.

It wasn’t a habit he’d meant to get into. He knew a regular sleep schedule, early nights, and some semblance of a routine were supposed to be good for you. But living in the dark for most of his childhood (if it could be called that) had really fucked with his body clock, and without a job to show up to or people to see, he didn’t have much of an incentive to follow that advice aside from concerned messages from Isis and Rishid the morning after he’d texted them at some ungodly hour with a new existential crisis which could range from “hey did you know sharks throw up their stomachs to clean them” to “oh gods I just realised something new about our shared childhood trauma”.

He’d never really been one of those people who had a regular routine — he’d actively rebelled against the idea ever since he’d gained the freedom he’d craved for his entire childhood, suddenly able to make every decision he wanted, from not making his bed to starting an international card game crime syndicate. Once, Rishid had suggested he go to bed early, and Malik had said, “what are you, my dad?”, and Rishid had decided in that moment that bedtime didn’t matter. Malik would stay up late into the night, Rishid would rise as early as he liked, and they would watch the sun rise over the Nile together, since seeing the sun in an open space was a privilege they never quite got used to. Malik would sneak into Cairo’s public libraries, into dark corners of Egyptian universities, into the Library of Alexandria itself, and stay up reading, learning things his father wouldn’t have wanted him to know and could have hardly conceived of himself. He would find empty, wide-open spaces under the stars and yell and laugh and do anything he wanted because there was no one around, no one who was awake to watch or hear him or tell him no. Darkness could be suffocating, but it could also be a cover for him to be alone and free and himself. 

But occasionally, he did wonder whether getting eight hours of sleep per night would improve his state of mind during the day, just a little bit. At this point, going to sleep had to be better for him than staring out the window like an abandoned sim. But going to bed involved a series of steps which all required more effort and energy than remaining rooted on the spot staring at nothing in particular, so right now, that was what was happening.

Until he heard a knock at his front door and jumped half a foot in the air.

He swore quietly under his breath as he realised he’d spilled some of the now lukewarm latte — some of it splashed across the window and slowly began to roll down it in long, straight lines, the heat fogging up the glass. Malik stared at the grey fog creeping across the surface of the window for a few moments, transfixed in his exhausted stupor, before tearing his eyes away. He hastily put the mug down on a coffee table, running his fingers through his hair so that he looked a little more presentable to whoever was knocking on the door of his apartment at _4 AM_ (should he answer? he didn’t know who it was, something about this didn’t seem safe), and opened the door.

He was greeted with a mass of stark white hair, tanned skin, and a heavy black coat. His eyes widened with shock. “What the _fuck?”_

Bakura. Fucking, _Bakura_.

Bakura looked almost bored as he met Malik’s eye. No, not bored, _tired_. “Morning.”

“I— what the _hell_ are you doing here—”

“Can I come in?”

“I mean— _yeah,”_ he said, without thinking, “but Bakura what the _fuck—”_

Bakura waved a hand dismissively, pushing past him, not quite forcing his way into the room but giving the impression that he couldn’t be stopped even if Malik wanted to. He sat down on the nearest couch, sinking into it as he pinched the bridge of his nose, tilting his head back. “Can I get some water?”

Malik stared at him, unable to disguise how taken aback he was by Bakura’s sudden appearance. He’d known Bakura was alive despite everything that had happened — something about Kaiba engineering a body for Atem after visiting him in the afterlife and someone else saying Bakura deserved a chance at redemption too and Malik silently agreeing but not speaking up himself because he’d worked so hard to convince those people he was a good person and he didn’t want to ruin it — but no one really stayed close to him after that. He wasn’t really on speaking terms with anyone after their little escapade in Atem’s memories, and after giving a very blunt monologue about not wanting anyone’s “stupid pity or stupid friendship”, Bakura had seemed more than happy to disappear and do his own thing. Malik hadn’t even known he was still in _Japan_ , let alone Domino City, let alone anywhere near his _house_. 

He was also incredibly thrown by the fact that he couldn’t shut off the voice in his head saying, _oh shit, he’s still hot._

Malik had always had some kind of crush on Bakura. He hadn’t really known how to label it at first, during Battle City, and had been more than a little preoccupied with dark magic and alter egos and not being inside his own body, but with hindsight being around Bakura had always made a small rush of adrenaline go to his head, made something in his chest knot and twist and flutter and _oh gods it hadn’t gone away, he wasn’t aware crushes hung around for this long, this wasn’t something he’d ever considered and Bakura was in his living room and he was panicking._

There was also an equally loud voice telling him _no no no no no do not fall for him, do not associate with him, you left your sixteen year old self behind,_ except that he very clearly _hadn’t_ because his heart was _racing_ and even thinking about the fact that he still had a crush on Bakura made his cheeks feel _warm_ and he _liked it_ even though he was internally _screaming_ and Bakura was still _waiting for him to answer_. 

_Fuck_.

He swallowed, trying desperately to bury his thoughts and stay in the present moment rather than retreating further and further back into his own head. “Bakura, since when were you here?!”

Bakura barely looked at him. “Since a minute ago, get me some water, I’m your _guest_ —”

“It’s _four in the morning—_ ”

“Yeah, and you were already up, right?”

“Who says I was!?”

“There was light under the door.”

“I _sleep_ with a light on—”

“But you were up, right?”

“I— that’s not the _point_ —”

“Besides, don’t tell me you’re not dehydrated too—”

“You _don’t know that—_ ”

“Malik, am I _wrong—“_

Malik cut Bakura off with a long, tired sigh, already feeling as though he’d aged ten years. Bakura might still do weird things to his brain but he was also still an insufferable bastard. This was getting them absolutely nowhere. “Bakura. Why are you here?”

Bakura smirked up at him over the back of the couch. “I missed you. Is that really hard to believe?”

“Um, _yes_ , given that you’ve been alive for a year since Kaiba brought you back and you _didn’t speak to me_.”

“Hmm, Touché.”

“ _Bakura_ ,” he said, voice rising dangerously. “As plausible as it is for you to come here just to— just to piss the shit out of me—”

He broke off as Bakura let out an honest to god _giggle,_ snorting into his hand. “Piss the shit out of you?”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m tired. Why the hell are you in my house?”

“You let me in.”

_“Bakura.”_

“I’m actually drunk off my ass right now and came here for a quick fuck.”

If he wasn’t so pissed off Malik might have found that one amusing. He raised an eyebrow. “No, you’re too sharp to be drunk. Besides, rude of you to imply you’d have to be drunk to fuck me.”

Bakura raised an eyebrow. “What if I was sober and wanted to fuck you?”

Malik took a deep breath. “No.” (He wasn’t sure whether that was a “No, I don’t want that and wouldn’t let you” or a “No, but also maybe, we’re not unpacking this right now, don’t even suggest that or I’ll have a crisis”.)

Bakura rolled his eyes. “Right. What if I’m some kind of freeloader but feel guilty about imposing on Ryou again?”

Malik scoffed. “Impossible, you don’t give a shit about Ryou.”

“Excuse you, you don’t know me, you don’t get to say who I give a shit about.”

“You _stabbed and hospitalised him_.”

“Yeah, then I saved his ass from Atem in a shadow game.”

“Only to _preserve his body_.”

“I was playing the long game.”

Malik sucked in a long, tired breath. “Bakura. I’m at my wit’s end. If you don’t tell me why you’re here, I will make it so unpleasant for you to stay you’ll choose to leave on your own.”

Bakura smirked. “Oh yeah? What could you _possibly_ do to make me leave?”

“Start crying, probably,” he said flatly. “I’m so exhausted I could probably do it on command. You don’t want to deal with that.”

Bakura opened his mouth to make some kind of retort, then shut it again. “You shouldn’t be allowed to be good at manipulating people without the Rod. Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Well, I am. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Bakura bit his tongue, looking away, no longer meeting Malik’s gaze. “I need somewhere to sleep tonight.”

Malik blinked. “I— what? Is everything okay—”

“It’s _fine_. Just— tonight is an issue," he huffed. "I'm desperate."

Malik nodded, growing quiet, thrown by that admission. Had they always admitted weakness like that around each other? Had they been vulnerable with each other? He supposed they must have to some degree, since they almost _died_ together trying to defeat the other Malik and get his body back. But it wasn’t the image of Bakura that Malik remembered. Malik remembered him being arrogant, and mysterious, and closed off, and suddenly he wasn’t sure whether he’d been _wrong_.

Also, something in his stomach melted a little at the idea of Bakura revealing some kind of soft side to him, as if he was sharing something with Malik that he didn’t share with anyone else. It was weird. It was nice.

He swallowed thickly. “Oh, um. Yeah. There’s a couch.”

“I noticed,” he said drily.

“You can have it,” Malik said dumbly. Bakura blinked at him, surprised, before he clarified: “ _Tonight,_ you can have it.”

Bakura nodded, swallowing awkwardly, and Malik almost rolled his eyes at how little he’d changed, how much his _stupid pride_ made him a _stupid asshole_ who couldn’t even say _thank you_. He sighed, walking over to the kitchen and getting a glass of water for them both, the hiss of the water as it ran out of the tap mirroring the white noise in his brain as it struggled to process what was happening.

Bakura was in his apartment. At four in the morning.

Strangely, he almost felt as though he should be panicking _more_. But now that they'd done their little dance of 'what the fuck are you doing here, I don't even like you', it felt strangely natural to have him around again. Too natural. Unnervingly natural.

He bit the inside of his cheek, putting the full glass of water down on the bench beside him and beginning to fill up the next one. A part of him was definitely wondering what Bakura was doing in Domino, and whether he should even ask, but he was surprised to find he'd already accepted that he would probably never know. Bakura had never been particularly forthright with Malik about what he was doing or what his plans were, even when they’d been ride or die allies. It would be _nice_ to be kept in the loop, but he was pretty sure Bakura never told that kind of thing to anyone. 

Even if he had occasionally hoped he could be the exception.

Most of the time, Bakura's mysterious aura was something that Malik liked about him a lot. At some point, using the Millennium Rod had become so normal to him that at some point the novelty and sense of awe surrounding shadow magic had worn off. He'd worked on his plan to get his revenge on the Pharaoh and built up the Rare Hunters for so long that it almost became _dull_ , especially since he was met with minimal resistance due to the Rod's power. But Bakura was _interesting_. For the first time in his life, he grew close to someone outside of his immediate family whose mind he couldn't access on a whim. Working with him and talking to him was like reading a book and being unable to look up the plot or learn any spoilers.

But at times he'd wondered what it would be like to truly _know_ him, for him to be less of a mystery and more of a _person_.

_What if I invited him to stay for more than one night?_

Malik jerked backwards, physically recoiling from the thought as soon as it crossed his mind, removing glass from underneath the tap as it became close to full. He wasn't sure where the fuck _that_ idea had come from, since right now he hardly wanted Bakura around in the first place (kind of). Besides, he didn't dare get carried away imagining a scenario where Bakura stayed. They weren't friends. That had _never_ been their deal. Bakura stayed until he got what he needed and then _left_. That was how it had always been — it was what they'd agreed during the Battle City tournament, so Malik didn't have any right to be mad about it.

 _You're fine. He's a piece of shit and you don't want him around anyway._ _(Kind of.)_

Letting out another heavy sigh, he picked up the glasses and began to carry them back to the living room, peering around the wall dividing the two spaces. "Bakura? Bakura, I got your stupid water."

There was silence from the room. Quietly, Malik approached the couch, glancing over the side. Seeing Bakura, his gaze softened, his insides melting.

He was curled up on the couch, facing the cushions, back to the windows, eyes shut. Based on how slowly he was breathing, he could have been asleep already, not that Malik was particularly familiar with his regular breathing patterns. His long white hair spilled over the edge of the couch, stirring and swaying a little in the breeze from the open window. He'd helped himself to the throw folded over the arm of the couch, tucking in his legs to curl himself under it, pulling it up just over his nose. 

Malik blinked, a smile slowly stretching across his face. He looked unbelievable, impossibly _soft_. He looked _cute_.

_Oh my gods. I'm going to think about this for days. Oh my gods._

He silently stepped around the side of the couch, putting Bakura's glass of water down on the table. He leaned down close to him, whispering: "Psst, Bakura. You awake?"

There was no response. Malik bit his tongue, giving him an experimental tap on the shoulder. Nothing.

A part of him was so, _so_ tempted to take a photo, but without Bakura's permission, that felt wrong. So instead he stood there for a few moments, holding his breath, trying to etch every detail into his memory and never let it slip away. 

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, eventually zoning out, his thoughts turning fuzzy aside from a faint tug at the back of his mind telling him he really ought to sleep. The sun would be up before long. Carefully, he turned off the lamp in the corner of the room and began to back into the bedroom, keeping one eye on Bakura to make sure he didn't wake him. He made one more attempt to memorise the soft look on Bakura's face as he left, Bakura's hair almost turning silver under the dim lights from the city outside. 

For a few moments, he allowed himself to wonder what it might be like if Bakura did stay forever. Then he quietly pulled the door shut, glancing back at his old ally one last time.

"'Night, bastard," he murmured. "I missed you."

* * *

When he woke up the next morning Bakura was gone.

For a moment he thought he must've imagined the whole thing. Maybe it had all been a dream.

Then he found a note on his kitchen bench alongside an empty carton of juice reading “you ran out of juice” as if it was all Malik’s fault.

Malik let out a long exhale through his nose. _Asshole._

It was on brand for Bakura, if nothing else. Malik could feel a headache coming on, which was almost definitely his own fault since he’d been up at four in the morning even without Bakura being there, but decided it was somehow Bakura’s fault anyway as he took some painkillers. He picked the empty carton and the note up off the bench and began to throw them both out, but hesitated as he held the handwritten note over the bin.  He felt ridiculous, but he wanted physical proof that Bakura had really been there. He sighed, folding the piece of paper in half, freezing as he noticed something was written on the reverse side.

_ 'I missed you too, idiot.' _


End file.
